


and it all comes down to you

by remuspolaris (risolyandiwys)



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risolyandiwys/pseuds/remuspolaris
Summary: “I spent an eternity existing without you. I refuse to go anywhere if you’re not there with me.”// Takes place during 8.05/Boy Wonder.(Reposted after heavy editing/new content)





	and it all comes down to you

**Author's Note:**

> i had a lot of issues with the version of this i had posted previously. they’ve been fixed.
> 
> happy reading.

The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes are those of Cordelia Goode staring down at her. They’re crinkled at the corners with the force of her smile, and shining with tears. The soft touch of trembling hands on her jaw disappears, and then Cordelia is pulling her into a sitting position and into her arms.

“Misty,” Cordelia says in awe as she draws back, her hands rising to gently cradle her jaw once more. “ _My dearest Misty._ ”

Misty starts to believe she really _must_ be here, because it seems impossible that she could ever conjure up eyes as beautiful as those flickering between both of hers with her own imagination — and Hell could _never_ produce such beauty. They’re deep brown, almost black in the lowlight, and Misty thinks that they’re an ocean.

Correction: they’re the sea — and she wants to tell Cordelia that she’s happy to leave the shore if this is what it means to get lost in her, that she’s happy to drown as waves of emotion crash over her.

_Tap, tap, tap._

“Am I…?”

“Yes. You're back.”

_Tap, tap, tap._

Misty still isn’t quite able to believe that this is real — the woman kneeling before her, those scattered around them (blatantly _staring_ at them with open interest), the hard floor beneath her and the four walls around her. She isn’t certain that this isn’t another illusion concocted just for her, a transformation of her personal Hell to another version of it. So she _tap, tap, taps_ and Cordelia _seems_ to be real under her fingertips, but—

No, it isn’t a trick. Is it? That young man, the one who reeks of evil, he’s saved her. Somehow, he’s done something that goes against his very nature and has given her another chance at life. Why, she doesn’t know — but she can’t bring herself to question motives.

Not only that, but Misty is in the arms of the woman she has been missing for an eternity (one where her existence consisted of death and resurrection, and missing Cordelia painfully for the entirety of it). Misty has been returned to Cordelia, who is touching her — _can’t_ stop touching her, it seems — and Misty wants more, more, more. She is oh so greedy for Cordelia’s gentle touch.

“You’re _safe_.”

Misty is unable to tear her eyes from Cordelia’s, utterly captivated by them and the depth of emotion they direct at her. She’s never wanted to get lost in someone’s eyes the way she does with Cordelia Goode’s. It’s impossible for her to look anywhere else, she doesn’t want to sever the connection between them. She leans into Cordelia as she brushes her thumbs over her lips, doesn’t look away even as she covers one of Cordelia’s hands with each of her own, presses her lips to her left palm in a lingering kiss, and then does the same to the other.

Cordelia is suddenly guiding her forward, and Misty allows Cordelia to press her lips against her own. She folds into Cordelia immediately, her fingers curling around Cordelia’s wrists as she kisses away the ice Hell had instilled with her. Misty’s been numb for so very long, has been dismantled completely and kissing Cordelia — well, kissing Cordelia is the finding of all her broken pieces, the beginning of reparation. And yet, it hurts. The tightening of her chest as her heart breaks inside of it from the unfairness of it all; the knowledge that it has taken her death and resurrection for this to _finally_ happen between them.

What _doesn’t_ hurt is this: Cordelia’s hands gentle on her jawline, thumbs brushing her cheeks. Cordelia’s lips moving against her own, alternating between capturing her top and bottom lip, parting when hers do. Cordelia’s tongue stroking hers, then retreating as Cordelia takes her bottom lip between her own and sucks as she pulls away.

No, kissing Cordelia doesn’t hurt at all.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Misty doesn’t know how much time passes before Cordelia hesitantly pulls back, she only knows that hasn’t been nearly long enough, and she thinks maybe Cordelia feels the same because she kisses Misty tenderly one last time and gives her a meaningful look before she’s asking Misty if she can stand up. Once they’re upright, Cordelia is addressing the warlocks, and Misty feels unease bubble in her chest. The knowing glances from the witches she considers friends distracts her momentarily from the heated discussion.

“I descended into hell and I did what you couldn't. I brought her back. I passed the Seven Wonders,” the blonde man says, all arrogance and no respect for the reigning Supreme.  
  
“There can be no doubt. You are the next Supreme,” Cordelia states calmly. Misty is the first to notice the blood coming from her nose, the way she sways on her feet, and she reaches out to grasp Cordelia’s forearm to keep her upright. “Leave us.”

“Of course,” says one of the warlocks with a smirk, moving to leave. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

As soon as the men are gone, Myrtle is beside them with a handkerchief, fussing over her like a mother would her own child. Cordelia rolls her eyes as Myrtle wipes her nose and mouth, but Misty sees the appreciation shining in them.

“Let’s get you to your room, my dear,” Myrtle says as she withdraws and turns to exit the room, “Come along now.”

Misty follows her, supports Cordelia with a hand on her elbow and an arm around her waist as they make their way down a long hallway. The room they enter is spacious, furnished with a bed, a loveseat with a bench in front of it and a table beside it, and a fireplace along the far wall. Flames come to life inside of it with a wave of Myrtle’s hand, and then she is directing the two of them to the couch. Misty helps Cordelia sit down and then glances around, notices with mild relief that the other witches had opted not to follow them.

“Misty…” Cordelia mumbles as she slumps back against the couch, face twisting as she reaches for her side.

“I’m right here, Cordelia,” Misty reassures her as she kneels before Cordelia, places a single hand on her knee. “Rest now, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Cordelia grunts in discomfort as she rubs her side, then drops her hand as her eyes fall shut.

“Oh, little bird.” It’s sweet, Misty thinks, how Myrtle reaches out to touch Cordelia’s forehead briefly and run her fingers down her cheek. It’s effortless, and completely involuntary, the way she slips into the role of a mother worried for her sick child. “Too much excitement for one day, I think.”

 _Lie_. If it isn’t flat-out, then it’s by omission. That much Misty senses as she regards the troubled expression on the older woman’s face. She decides not to address it then, however. Instead she informs Myrtle that she’s going to make a cup of tea for Cordelia (doesn’t mention the fear splintering in her chest at the sight of Cordelia so clearly unwell, or her need to busy herself for even a few minutes so she can breathe again).

. . .

It takes Misty longer to find the kitchen than she anticipates, although it doesn’t take very much time at all to find what she needs to prepare a single cup of tea. However, she draws it out on purpose, in dire need of a few minutes alone — a few minutes of peace to come to terms with the fact that everything happening around her isn’t a figment of her imagination, and a few minutes to process it all.

This is what she knows: that arrogant young man has indeed saved her and is now demanding to take Cordelia’s place as the Supreme. Because, _right_. It had been a test for him, only instead of fighting his way out of his own personal Hell, Cordelia had sent him to free Misty from her own. And if he had managed to do that, if he could do what even Cordelia couldn’t, then—

Understanding comes to her as fear hits her square in the chest, and it’s the sensation that she can’t breathe that has her on her way back to Cordelia without any further delays. When Misty returns, she’s met with a quiet exchange of word that she can’t quite make out and eyes falling on her as she walks father into the room. Misty starts to breathe easier as her eyes find Cordelia’s, as she notices how Cordelia looks slightly better than she had before.

“Delia, sit up if you can.”

As she slowly approaches Cordelia, she feels the weight of her gaze on her and her cheeks grow warm.

“It's not Louisiana mud, but it'll have to do,” Misty says shyly and sits across from Cordelia, hands the mug over to her.

“What is it?” Cordelia asks with a teasing lilt, and Misty is once more drawn to her eyes. They’re nearly black, twinkling with the light of the flames dancing in the fireplace, and the heat in them — directed toward _her_ — makes butterflies flutter low in her stomach.

Misty offers a shrug as she answers, lips rising into a half-smile. “Lipton's.”

Cordelia laughs softly and lifts the mug with trembling hands; Misty’s hands are hovering over hers then entire time, grazing the backs of her hands with her fingertips, ready to support them and the weight of the mug if needed. Cordelia takes a sip and then lowers the mug, and Misty gently takes it from her to place it off to the side.

“Sit with me?” Cordelia requests, and Misty moves to sit beside her. She angles her body toward Cordelia, places her hands in her lap as she twists a ring around her finger. “I knew you for such a short time, and I've missed you _forever_.”

Misty smiles softly and warmth blossoms in her chest. The words are heavy and they come to reside somewhere deep within her, and they hurt as if they’ve been etched into her very bones. And then her smile fades, and it hurts because — “You should have left me where I was.”

At this, Cordelia reaches out to grasp Misty’s hands tightly with her own. She furrows her brow in concern as she gently demands, “What? Why?”

“That man you sent to fetch me — he gives me the heebie-jeebies. There is something wrong with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn't understand what they were saying, but he listened while those children talked their gibberish all around the classroom. I'm not educated, but I'm no fool. Evil was speaking to him.”

“Maybe he had to negotiate your release from Hell?” Cordelia’s face twists as she considers Misty’s words.

“Maybe. And you would know better than me, Miss Cordelia,” Misty concedes, but she isn’t so sure. “But I've sensed evil ever since I was a child. I could smell the sweet rot of a decaying soul, but I've never smelled anything quite like him. I don't know how to describe it. To me, he wore the perfume of death.”

“Delia, what have we done? We've anointed that boy the next Supreme,” Myrtle interjects with a frown.

“He will never be the Supreme,” Cordelia states firmly.

“Then why did you give him the test?”

“Because I needed to know how strong he was. I knew there was something dangerous about him, something dark. I wanted to keep him close so we would be ready. Something is coming. I can feel it. Whatever it is, Michael Langdon has already given us an advantage. He's brought all my girls back to me for the fight ahead.”

Silence falls over the room, and then Misty is twisting her head to the side to address Myrtle. “D’you mind givin’ us a few minutes?” she asks softly.

“Of course, my dears,” Myrtle responds and moves toward the door. “Take all the time you need.”

And then she’s gone, and it’s just Misty and Cordelia — Misty, who doesn’t know where to start; and Cordelia, who seems content to simply watch Misty and stroke her knuckles with her thumbs.

“I’ve lost my footing, Miss Cordelia. I was in Hell for so long, I don’t know where I am anymore—” Misty starts, but Cordelia cuts her off.

“You’ve done enough, Misty.” Cordelia squeezes Misty’s hands as she opens her mouth to object. “ _Yes, you have_. You brought us the first proof. Now you need to heal.”

“I haven’t done _anything_ , Cordelia. Besides, I’m not gonna sit around and do nothin' while you go to war with evil,” Misty tells her. Cordelia’s eyes fill with tears and Misty lifts their hands to her mouth, places lingering kisses to the back of Cordelia’s. “I spent an eternity existing without you. I refuse to go anywhere if you’re not there with me.”

“Misty…”

“I may have lost my footing, but that doesn’t matter as long as I’m with you. I’ll find it. You have a way of guiding me right where I need to be.”

“I guided you right to Hell. You were stuck there because of _me_ —”

“No,” Misty interrupts firmly. “I knew the risks of performing the Seven Wonders, and I did it anyway. I failed, but that was on me — not you.”

“Oh, Misty,” Cordelia murmurs quietly. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Cordelia reaches up to cradle Misty’s face in her hands, thumbs brushing her lips and then her cheeks. She smiles, but Misty can see the way her lips and chin quiver, sees the tears in her eyes as she leans into Misty. Their foreheads press gently together when Misty closes the distance between them, blinking away her own tears as she does so.

“You are _beautiful_ , Misty. You are goodness personified. You don’t belong to the underworld anymore, and you won’t go back there when your time comes. I made sure of that. You _have_ done enough, darling, now it’s your turn to rest.”

Misty thinks that perhaps Cordelia is going to say more, but she suddenly winces and clenches her jaw as her hand drops to her side. Misty watches her knuckles turn white as she grips the fabric of her shirt, listens to the way she breathes out through her nose.

“You’re hurting,” Misty says after a moment, mostly to herself, and reaches out to rest her hand lightly over Cordelia’s. She nearly jerks her hand away at the contact, nearly overcome with dread at the rot that emanates from just below Cordelia’s fist, but resists. “Show me.”

Cordelia does not react to her request (her  _demand_ ) immediately, briefly appears as though she is going to object, but then sighs heavily and pulls her shirt from where it’s tucked into her skirt. She lifts it slowly, and as soon as the rot is exposed, Misty reaches out to place her hand flat against it.

“You’re fading,” she says with resignation, her suspicions confirmed, and Cordelia says nothing. She doesn’t so much as look at Misty, opts to stare straight ahead. “How long have you…”

“A while.”

“You brought me back here just so I can watch you die. Do you really think I’d accept this?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know how my mother was. You’re aware of the unforgivable acts she committed to stay in her role as the Supreme. I can’t do that, Misty. I _won’t_. All I can do is help prepare the witch who will take my place for this role, and accept what is to come. I’m not the first Supreme to fade, and I won’t be the last.”

“I can’t accept that.”

Misty knows she sounds petulant. She wants to continue questioning her, wants to be told everything there is to know, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she looks from Cordelia’s pained expression to the decay beneath her palm and closes her eyes. Misty directs the magic pulsing in her veins to settle in her palm and extend to her fingertips, and then to the skin beneath her hand.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” Cordelia requests ( _begs_ ) as tears escape the corners of her eyes. “Please, sweetheart — _it’s okay._ ”

Misty doesn’t want to sever the connection she has with Cordelia, to undo the tiny threads she has formed over the rot, wants to weave the broken skin together and expel the death that seems to be stubborn in its refusal to fade. But Cordelia is reaching out to Misty in every way she can — with a verbal request and a hand on her arm, her weakened magic finding Misty’s and tugging — and Misty can’t refuse her.

Misty removes her hand from Cordelia’s side and pulls her shirt down so her skin is completely covered, and then wraps both arms around Cordelia. Misty holds her close and presses her lips to the side of her head, near her temple, and then rests her cheek there. Cordelia clutches her arm as she leans into Misty, nuzzles the long column of her neck with her nose as they fold into each other.

“I’m gonna fight with you, against whatever it is that’s coming.” Misty draws back slightly to tuck a finger beneath Cordelia’s chin, and tilts her head up so their eyes meet. “I’m gonna fight _for you_ , darlin’. I swear it.”

Cordelia bites her bottom lip for a moment and then releases it with a long exhale. Misty waits for her to object, but she doesn’t. Cordelia presses forward to kiss Misty again (so deep, so thorough that she feels it down to her very toes) and Misty can’t do anything except reciprocate without hesitation. She kisses Cordelia with everything in her — the words she’s been wanting to say but hasn’t been brave enough to speak aloud, the all-consuming love for Cordelia that swells in her chest and governs the _thumpthump_ of heart. Misty wants Cordelia to know that everything within her longs for her, wants Cordelia to know that she’s found her home in her, wants Cordelia to know that her name is permanently carved into her heart.

Cordelia slowly eases up, whispers _I love you_ against her lips before they’re moving together again. Misty smiles into the kiss and thinks that, for now, this is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. any feedback would be greatly appreciated :)


End file.
